My name is Molly. You don't know me, because I haven't posted anything yet. So, for posterity, here are things about me.
I try to be very nice to everyone that I come across unless I have a specific reason not to. I make an effort to use punctuation and proper spelling, but I don't really care if other people do.
I like summer nights when there is a slight breeze, and I rather enjoy heights. Whenever I get particularly depressed, I eat wintergreen lifesavers. Whenever I get stressed out, I play video games. In the winter, I take a particular joy in watching frozen breath rise.
I am currently frustrated with men, since none of them are interested in me for myself.
I try to study more, but I don't. I try to draw more often, but I don't. I think I'm a bland conversationalist. I love cats, and want to be a cat lady, but I am deathly allergic. This is how I think I'm going to die someday.
I almost always tell the truth online, but much less often in person.
I wish I had a culture that I belonged to. I want to learn languages and travel around the world.
I have a ridiculously morbid sense of humor.
I get sad for the plights of others, truly sad. I feel like I know people that have never talked to me. Its because I lurk a lot. I don't often like talking about my feelings, but I appreciate it when people ask.
When I look back at what I've written here, I feel like an extremely bad writer compared to everyone else.
I wrote this bio years ago, when I joined. I'm going to leave it here, but now there are changes to be made.
I am no longer that frustrated with men. I found one, and he wears a long black trench coat and a bucket hat to hide his fine, thinning hair. I love to stroke that hair when he lets me; it's soft like fur. He tells me often that he loves me and corrects me when I say horrible things about myself, as I do often, and I correct him when he says horrible things about himself, which he does slightly less often. He's the smartest man I know and I hurt him so much when I tear myself apart.
I have become better about being truthful. I'm a horrible liar, and do it unconvincingly whether on or offline.
I think I'm a better person than I used to be. I don't feel so helpless, and inept as I used to. I express myself more. Still, I avoid people, and things I regarded as games when I was young seem more now like neurosis. It bothers me sometimes. Perhaps realizing these things is worse than the things themselves.
I'm not that different from before, but I feel different from before.
It has been nine years since I've joined, six since I've been here. I thought E2 had faded into the ether years ago, and was surprised when a search on Google turned it up, even more surprised when my user name still logged in.
What changes? Not much. The things I said (confessed, really) still resound with me. They are true. But I feel like an adult and it feels worlds away from the person who wrote earlier.
I go to a job everyday instead of school, and I talk to people sometimes. I get anxious, but I keep going and that works most of the time.
I still have my trench-coated companion. We speak in metaphors devised during weird moments late at night. The future seems promising, but not the wide expanse I dreamt of when I was younger. Everything seems more complicated.
One thing that hasn't changed is how much I edit, even if no one will read it. These few lines have still taken the good part of four hours to write. The words then decrease, disappear then are re-added again later.